God Save the Queen
by LovelyFangirls
Summary: Dark!AU YOU'VE BEEN WARNED I just recently got into this a bit... so... giving it a try. Unfortunately, not going to give you any spoilers in the summary. BUT! It's rated M for a reason! Violence, language, dark thoughts, and yes... sex. If this is your cup of tea by all means read it, but read at your own discretion. Warning: may mess with your head... a lot.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Just take my advice and stay away from that guy."

"Why?"

Sargent Donavan turned, a disgusted look plastered over her face, "You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he gets off, and you know what? One day just solving the crimes isn't going to be enough. One day we'll all be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there."

"And why would he do that?"

"Because he's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored." She turned on her heel and proceeded to strut in the opposite direction, seemingly proud of herself, "Just stay away from Sherlock Holmes!"

I couldn't say the man wasn't weird, because he most certainly was, but Donavan was just another jealous cop who fancied bashing his name whenever she could. From what I could gather, the department often called him up. The way most called him by his first name and the way others sneered when he passed told me they had mixed feelings for him. No one, detective or otherwise, could do the things Sherlock could.

Granted, that was the first time I'd been at a crime scene with Sherlock, but already I could tell the man was brilliant. I could see how he scared people though... Sherlock could tell you your life's story after one up and down glance, and I don't mean a long, close stare either. I mean a literal 10 second side glance. He told me mine after holding my phone for a minute, and it wasn't poking through my messages or contacts either, he looked at it's rims and cracks before telling me all about my alcoholic sister and asking me about the war. That was all he needed. As I said, the man was brilliant, and it scared people.

It should have scared me too. It would've made it easier for me to get out before I'd sunk too far under, and before I found out Sherlock was a killer.


	2. Making Me Feel Nervous

It was another lazy day in the flat, Sherlock and I were tired after the last case, well, at least I was. Sherlock was grinning to himself the whole evening. I really didn't feel like asking... he often was like this after he got a 'fun' case, but his definition of fun was plenty different from mine. Then again, most people don't believe solving a murder or shaking hands with a serial killer is 'fun'. Yes, he thinks its fun. I don't mean he enjoys it, I mean he flat out brightens. Smiling, laughing, sometimes even stopping to jump in the air for a minute.

However, I'd known Sherlock for a little less then a year by then, and he'd never smiled like that _after_ a solved case. There wasn't anything special about this one either. The wife did it because of their recent divorce. Settlement would've ruined her. Nothing psychopath friendly about it really, but Sherlock just kept smiling. I shifted in my seat. He didn't scare me, in fact I was secretly harboring a crush on him, but there was something off today... and it made me nervous.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" he looked up from his papers.

"What's got you so happy today?" I asked.

He grinned deeper, "Oh, nothing at all."

I frowned, "Well that's a lie. You're been grinning like a cat since we got home."

"Cats don't grin." he replied.

"What?"

"Cats. They don't grin."

I rolled by eyes, "It's an expression Sherlock."

"Well it's an inaccurate one." he retorted, turning his attention back to the papers in hand.

"Sherlock seriously," I leaned forward in my chair, "What's going on?"

"There is nothing 'going on' John. I'm just smiling." He snarled slightly, "That a crime?"

I stood, angrier then I'd like to admit, "It is if you hardly ever smile. Something's up Sherlock."

His tone worsened as he shouted abuse, "I sad nothing was wrong!"

I took a cautious step back, a bit scared. This wasn't the Sherlock I knew. He was acting strangely and it made me nervous. "I'm only trying to help."

"Well I don't need _your_ help." he snapped.

I was hurt. Not bothering to speak another word, I channeled my tantrum at my room. I stomped to my door and turned only for a second, maybe hoping to see Sherlock looking back at me... but that wasn't the case. He was busy with his papers. Married to his work. It wasn't work. Sherlock was married to his _addiction_. His work was his obsession. I should have been scared of him just like everyone else was. However, I honestly wasn't.

Maybe I'm addicted to danger, maybe the thrill attracts me... but it was exciting to be around someone offering the adrenalin-junkie type of life. Sherlock intrigued me, always. I was lured into his life with the promise of action. I didn't know why until recently... but that's a topic for later.


	3. Breakfast with Sherlock

The early morning sky burnt my eyes as it flooded through the curtains. Going to bed angry isn't gold for 'fresh morning' attitudes, and I can't say I'd jump and the chance to just calmly work it out with him. I shuffled out the door and into the kitchen, where not to much surprise, I was greeted with by a messy concoction. Smiling to myself, I took a scoop of the meal. I plopped down at the table with my bowl, taking a satisfied bite of Sherlock's apology breakfast. At least he was trying. I scrunched my face. It didn't taste good. A word of advice for the future, even if it looks edible, never eat anything you haven't cooked yourself when living with Sherlock. It's probably not meant to be eaten.

I started choking violently.

"Sh-Sherlock!" I tried to scream, but it came out hoarse and burned my throat.

The figure burst from the front room, taking a few seconds to overlook the situation before lifting my arm over his neck. "Did you drink it?! John, just... just hang in there."

It was hard to keep my eyes open as I was dragged down the stairs and escorted into a cab. Panicked, Sherlock shoved some quid into the front seat before returning to me. He coddled me the entire ride to the hospital, "Sherlock..." I tried, "What... what did... was in there?"

"You've been poisoned." he replied bluntly.

"POIS-" The hacking was rough on my throat, cutting into it seemingly.

Sherlock ran his hand along my upper back soothingly, "Don't talk. It will only hurt."

My throat was on fire, sweat starting to bead at the top of my head. I fought for consciousness the rest of the ride as he shouted orders to the cab driver. Poor man. I didn't think we'd make it in time. "I-if I... don't make it... I-"

"I said not to speak!" he ordered.

"I'll kill you."

I noticed the tiny smirk tug at Sherlock's lips. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Wha-" The coughing intensified and I thought I'd vomit.

When I did vomit, it didn't seem to bother Sherlock. The detective just kept his eyes on the road, his hand soothingly running over my back. I was slowly giving into sleep as I felt myself being lifted from the leather seats. There was muttering all around me as the lights blurred and buzzed. I blinked again and again, hoping I could just fix my vision myself... in vain. There was a sharp sting to my inner-arm as I was set on something soft. In my own experience, I'd say it was a gurney, and the stinging was most likely a needle. Maybe pain killers? Something to keep me awake? Sounds faded and swam in jumbles, circling my head. I probably would've been dizzy if my brain hadn't started malfunctioning at that point. I think.. thought- I was moving, hands flying around me in sudden flashes. I heard Sherlock's voice for a moment. It was brief though... and I couldn't make out the words. I tried to speak, but it hurt too much and only came out as short-lived gasps.

The light stilled, sounds dying out and I assumed I was in a hospital room finally. All I could manage to make out was the beep. It coursed slowly... beep... beep... beep... beep... That dreadfully slow, dead rhythm in the back of my subconscious soothed me, so I let my eyes close. Ahh... sweet relief. I wanted to sleep. My head hurt, my stomach ached, my eyes stung. A nap sounded blissful and quiet. I decided to give into it's sweet temptation and went to sleep listening to the soft beat. Beep... beep... beep... They were getting slower now. Beep... beep... beep...

And then the beeping stopped.


	4. Scallop Potatoes

I remember feeling lot of pain in my side for a while, but waking up wasn't all that bad otherwise. Of course, being the idiot I am, the first thing I did was call for Sherlock. "Sh-Sherlock!?"

Sherlock was sitting in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs opposite me. His coat was draped over it's back, and there was a small pile of papers and folders sitting at his feet. Maybe he wanted something to read. Of course Sherlock would bring case files.

"I'm here." he replied, rather blandly.

I blinked in astonishment, remembering everything that happened, "Did... was I... did I die?"

"Your heart stopped for a few seconds, yes. However as you can tell you've made a full recovery."

He seemed bored with the matter. I tried not to be a little disappointed with it, but I'd thought maybe he'd at least freak out a little. Maybe? I turned my gaze to the window, "How long was I asleep?"

"Two days."

"Two?"

Sherlock stood from his seat, slowly stalking over to where I lay. "You were poisoned. Why'd you eat it!?"

"I thought it was an apology breakfast! I didn't think you'd be cooking up a poison in the kitchen! That's not what normally happens!" I exclaimed.

"Since when has anything in our lives together been normal?"

Maybe I read a little to far into that sentence, but it made me kind of happy all the same. "You're right..." I looked down at my itchy quilt, "I probably should've looked at that a little harder."

"Mmh." he hummed in agreement before taking a seat on the edge of my bed.

I let out a soft chuckle before turning to him, "I'm still going to murder you for it you bloody idiot!"

Sherlock grinned, "I don't think you really could."

"Oh, don't underestimate me." I replied rather teasingly.

"Believe me, I don't."

There were a few uncomfortable seconds of silence before Sherlock rose once more, returning to his little pile of case files. He settled back against the chair after scooping up a packet, "Since you're awake, you should be able to leave in a couple of hours."

"You don't have to stay..."

Sherlock lifted his head from his reading, "Of course I do. Don't be stupid John, it isn't becoming."

I smiled to myself. He was most definitely an idiot, but he wanted to stay. I could relish some good feeling off that couldn't I? The blinds were just barely open, and my room overlooked something of a garden. I couldn't exactly tell from my seat. My stomach started growling... but I guess being unconscious for two days can do that to you. I flipped the blanket from my legs, swinging them around to the edge of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Food." I replied, my bare feet hitting the tiled floor, "I'm starving."

Sherlock stood, he slipped my arm over his neck, crouching slightly so I could reach. He supported my back firmly, taking careful time to help me get adjusted to walking again. "Thanks..." I muttered.

There was no way I'd let him see how red I was.

Walking to the hospital cafeteria wasn't that difficult with Sherlock helping me. I didn't really need his help by the time we reached halfway... but he didn't need to know that. Did you know that hospitals are stocked with extraordinary food? I smiled, mouthful of scallop potatoes. "You need to eat something too Sherlock." I ordered, shoving my plate in his direction.

The detective groaned, "I'm not hungry."

"You hardly ever eat. It's not healthy. Keep your strength up."

I refused to let up until he'd taken a bite. Finally, he consented. I think my ego bumped up a few notches that day.


	5. That Case

I recovered instantly, thanking god he'd lugged me into the hospital before something vital had given out. Of course, I had to deal with the mass amount of tedious get well cards from the police station first. Half of them were just filled with harsh words about Sherlock, 'you shouldn't live there' or 'he'll end up killing you' even 'he's always like this. You're putting yourself at risk by living with a psychopath'. Morons the lot of them. I didn't exactly care what they thought about me, it was what they said about Sherlock that put me off. Sherlock hadn't done it on purpose, and he'd stayed by my side all throughout recovery... which may have only been a day.. but it was still something!

It was a little less than a week before new case came in. A famous judge and his family of 3 had all been killed. Their dog was found dead just outside as well. The only problem with it, was that there were no stab wounds, no shot holes, no nothing. With the police assuming they'd been killed the same way, before Sherlock's arrival the dog had been outlined then taken away for an autopsy, concluding that there were no traces of poison. They'd all just died.

So naturally, Sherlock was excited.

"The husband and wife were sitting on opposite sides of the table, which could just be the usual set u for this family, however if you look at the seat by the judge has small traces of the wife's perfume on it. She'd eaten in that chair at the previous meal, meaning she'd changed positions. They'd had a fight only recently. Maybe motive? Someone outside the family? Probably an affair due to the fact the husband is a famous man who stays out a little longer then his work hours. How do I know? There's a small trace of lipstick on the back right of his collar, not the wife's its a different shade. How do I know she switched chairs? Because the same dreadful stench is coming from the far chair, much more concentrated, so the most recent meal, meaning the one where they were killed." Sherlock bustled about the bodies and their chairs, no attempt to hide his pleasure, "None of them knew that they were about to die, and obviously died around the same time because they're all still sitting in their seats, no one got up to try to call for help. Now the dog, that's the fascinating part. How did the dog get introduced to the drug?"

"Drug?" Lestrade asked, looking up from his intense concentration. "There was nothing in the dog's system. It was a drug?" Lestrade was always trying to figure for himself how Sherlock noticed these things, so he'd be the first to ask questions.

"Yes, drug, obviously. No wound marks on the bodies, no blood, not a trace of anything. So, something introduced to their vital systems, however not injected or else we'd see punctures. Nothing airborne or there'd be traces left on the walls and furniture, the human body would seat out the air but wood, carpet, it would still hold small traces thanks to its composition and material groups. However, no such elements. Drug it is. Now, eating dinner, something introduced in the food maybe?"

Lestrade pointed to the food and immediately a few of the investigators took small samples. "We'll get right on that."

"Where's the dog?"

Anderson chirped in this time, "We got rid of it. There wasn't anything vital there so we didn't think-"

"Exactly. You didn't think." Sherlock snapped, turning to the man, "Whatever this was is extremely deadly and that dog was also effected, so not something just for the human's construction but any living creature. Now, that dog could have been key to this entire investigation, and you just 'got rid of him'?"

"I'll see if we can recover it." Lestrade replied, sending Anderson a sharp look before turning to a few other officers.

I shook my head, "Bloody brilliant you are."

I noticed his grin. That ever present, smug grin that he loved to wear to cases. "Yes, yes, you've told me such at least a hundred times."

"I mean it." I smiled. "This investigation feels kind of weird though..."

"Well it is a murder inve-"

"Investigating a poisoning case is what feels weird. I mean, right after... well, you know..."

Donavan has her own sort of spider senses. They alert her whenever there's an opportunity to bash Sherlock, I think this because she happened to pop up at that moment. Coincidence? I think not. "He's right you know." She squeaked, "What was it anyway Sherlock? Whatever you gave John? You never did tell us." She crossed her arms in a rather demanding fashion.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "It was a basic compound I was using to test whether or not I could sustain my own-"

"Where is it?" She snapped.

Sherlock stood from his position slouching over where the dog was outlined, "I got rid of it. I was rather hesitant to keep it after John was hospitalized." He replied, turning his attention back to the white chalk before muttering, "It failed anyway."

Donavan sharpened her gaze, "How do we know you weren't making a poison? Maybe you killed them?"

I fought the urge to punch her, "You always think it was him Sally!"

She shrugged, "I've never had a reason not to."

"Sherlock. Didn't. Do. It." I exclaimed, my fists clenching at my sides.

"John." Sherlock was behind me, placing a calming hand on my shoulder. "It's fine."

"It's far from fine! She-"

"It's fine." he retorted, grapping up my arm.

"What're you-"

"We'll be taking our leave now." he announced before dragging me out of the house.


	6. Brunettes and Backpacks

"Sherlock!"

He had dragged me straight into a cab, "221 Baker Street."

"Sherlock let go of my bloody arm! Why did you do that?"

He obliged, but hesitantly. "There wasn't any reason to stay, and Donavan was hassling you."

I pulled my hand over my face, "No Sherlock, she was hassling _you._"

"I wasn't bothered."

"Yeah, well, you should be." I snapped, turning my eyes to look out the window in a bit of a pout.

He didn't reply to my childish ways, just pulled his phone from his pocket and started to fiddle with it. That's just how he is. I hate to be the jealous girlfriend figure on this, but that damned phone upsets me... It gets more attention then I do. God I'm such a woman...

"So do you know how it was done?" I asked.

"Of course I do."

I rolled my eyes, "Do the police know you know?"

"Of course they don't." He replied, grinning devilishly.

I smiled right along side him, even giggled a bit. We were always doing something outrageous. Sherlock saw to that. Whether it was running down the streets with our hands handcuffed together, or stealing an ashtray from the queen herself. Always something silly. We didn't exactly lead 'normal' lives. The rest of the cab ride was filled with short-told jokes and small fits of laughter, followed by a few moments of uncomfortable silence. The car finally pulled up to the flat, and we tumbled out, Sherlock handing the man his quid as I shoved my hands into my pockets and headed for the door.

I was greeted by Mrs. Hudson, who was smiling widely, "There's a lady upstairs! Says she's here for Sherlock, the adorable thing. You know John, I haven't seen any of your girlfriends about for a while. How are they?"

"Out of the picture." I retort, not really in the mood for talking about my love life with the little old lady, sweet as she is.

I was more interested in the woman waiting in our flat. Particular why she was waiting for Sherlock. Maybe another client? No, clients didn't usually show up at this time. It was near noon. They liked to come a few hours after lunch, it was some weird time period Sherlock had worked out. I turned the knob, Sherlock on my heels. Inside was a gorgeous brunette, a long, curled braid falling down her back, a hair pin clipped to it's starting point. Her black skirt just above the floor, and her eyes a glistening cadet grey. She was indeed beautiful. I had to catch my breath for a moment. Then my insecurities kicked in, and demanded to know why she was here. "Hi!" She smiled, coming forward and extending a hand in my direction, "Kaitlyn Smith."

"John Wats-"

"Oh, I know who you are. It's just polite to offer my name as well." She had a smug grin that I wasn't too fond of. She turned to Sherlock, who nodded his head toward his room before heading to it.

I really didn't like this situation. What business did they have in his bedroom?

I sat in my chair, pouting once more. I waited for twenty minutes. Sherlock and Kaitlyn spent all that time locked in his room. My mind in the gutter, I assumed the worst. That's when I noticed the bag sitting near the door. It must've been hers because I'd never seen it before. My fingers started itching, begging to take a peek inside. My female instincts kicked in and I drove for it, silently pulling open the top. It'd be bad to get caught.

Inside were papers. Papers and pictures of the judge and his family. What? I took a closer look at the papers. Schedules, lock codes, per- perfume types? It seemed out of place, but then I realized that half of Sherlock's deductions were based off the perfume samples left about. She was the killer. Did Sherlock know? Was he in trouble in there? I shoved the papers into the bag and dropped it to the floor. Was she killing him in there!? Maybe he was already dead?! I stood abruptly, ready to knock down the door-

Then they came out. Kaitlyn bounded from the room, her smile even brighter then when she'd gone in. In her hand was a lidded jar, its contents familiar to me. My mind froze. She turned to Sherlock, pecking a kiss to his cheek before bidding him a goodnight. Which he returned in kind.

I turned my attention to my chair, attempting to walk towards it as if everything was okay. "Goodnight Doctor Watson." she grinned.

She'd just called me Doctor... oh god... I did my best to smile politely, wishing her a goodnight in reply. I couldn't make eye contact with Sherlock. I was... frightened. For the first time since I'd met him, I was frightened of Sherlock Holmes. One of the papers in her bag consisted of meeting points. Meeting points where she would get the poison she needed to kill her victims, under the meeting place, time and date, there was a name listed.

Her supplier, none other then my Sherlock.


	7. The Arm Chair

I couldn't make eye contact, so I pretended to pout. Maybe he'd see right through me, but maybe I could get away with it. Either way, it was better than giving in right away. I did my best to tame my thoughts to what he and Kaitlyn could have been doing in that room, hoping the thought would help with my cause. Instead, I found myself composing a number of situations involving murder discussions. I really didn't know what to think. Maybe the meeting was for something else- No... I knew better. Sherlock was definitely involved in the killings. He would gladly jump at the chance for something so 'interesting'. That's just how he was. I held my breath as he slugged about behind me, prayed he wouldn't see through my façade.

"Kaitlyn came on a business call John." he began, "We only went into my room because it seemed a more private place to discuss things. Don't let your mind wander too far." Completely casual.

Success.

"I'm not jealous." I replied.

"hmm?" He turned to me, stalking along side slowly.

His mouth was to my ear, "You're not jealous in the least?" He whispered, ghosting breath onto my cheek.

I shuddered, "N-no..."

As if my mind hadn't been in the gutter enough as it was, Sherlock had to go about messing with my body like- like some bloody power crazed sadist. I tried to still my heart as a bony hand slithered its way down my chest, his curls tickling my ear as he leaned in just a litter closer. Agonizingly close. What was he trying to do? Give me a heart attack?

"Sherlock..." His name came out as more of a moan then a complaint, much to my dismay. He'd circled the chair before I understood what was happening, "What're you?-"

My sentence was put to an end when he slid his hands up the arms of my seat. On instinct, I raised my arms defensively, tucking them at the elbow. My cheeks were hot and I could _feel_ my heart beating wildly in my head. Throbbing more then anything as he inched closer. It felt like he was teasing me, sneaking a knee in between my legs as his arms towered over me, resting at the top of the chair's back. I was trapped, and... didn't... dislike it. In fact, I was starting to feel impatient-

"Sherlock? Sorry, but do you have my- oh..." Kaitlyn stood in the doorway, taking in the scene, "Sorry for interrupting, but I'm missing some of my 'paperwork'."

I think I gasped after realizing that it had completely slipped my mind. I'm not necessarily sure if it was to myself, or loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but he cocked his head in an irritated manor. The detective pulled away and my breathing tried it's best to steady. He started poking around the tables. I tried to remain calm, but thankfully I was in such an unstable state because of Sherlock it was hard to distinguish which expression disguised what.

_Think John_, "W-hat are you looking for? I could help-"

"No, no thanks. It shouldn't be too hard to find." The brunette exclaimed, smiling politely.

"This place is a mess, surely it'd be quicker with three-"

"I said no thank you." she snapped.

I stilled, probably should've thought it through a bit more. Of course they wouldn't want me helping to find any of it. "I'm sorry..." she started, "I'm just really tense with work stress and such."

"Ahh." _Act casual, you don't know anything_, "I understand. What kind of work are you in?" _Idiot._

Once more she smiled, "Culinary."

I did my best to keep a straight face, "Oh? Any good?"

"I should hope so. Although, I really want to be a writer. I've been told I'm a bloody good one too."

"What do you write?"

Her obligatory grin had morphed into a genuine one. She really did have a passion in her voice when she talked about writing, "Murder mysteries mostly. Some romance and such, but I love the agony portrayed-"

"Alright." Sherlock interjected, "I think you must have just left it at home. It's not here."

"If you keep looking I'm sure you'll-"

"Goodnight." he retorted sharply, slamming her pack to her chest as he escorted Kaitlyn to the door.

I readied myself for him to come onto me again, my fingers playing with themselves as I stood near the chair nervously. Sherlock however, didn't seem to have the same ideas. He walked briskly past me, stomping into his bedroom and slamming the door behind. We didn't talk the rest of the night, and all I kept asking myself was if I'd done something wrong.


	8. Sex and Murder

I went to bed frustrated. Sherlock's attitude towards me had changed dramatically after Kaitlyn made a reappearance. I'd truly believed that we'd broken the line between lovers and flat-mates because of what happened... but now, he was even more distant then he'd been before. Had I done something wrong? Thoughts picked and poked at my brain in a devilish dance, clouding my thoughts with insecurities and depression. I could feel my senses dulling. I think I was giving up with myself. My limbs refused to move from the bed, stilled in steady position so that my eyes had nothing to do other then stare blankly at the ceiling patterns.

I didn't know what to do with my information on Sherlock... I could go to Lestrade, but I didn't think I could bare to turn Sherlock in like that. Maybe he'd been forced into it! Maybe- My head was spinning, full of questions and 'maybes'. I knew I needed to confront him. The only problem with that being that my heart didn't know if it could handle. Its unfortunate to crush on a murderer.

With all the energy left in my body, I lifted myself from the warm comfort of my bed, letting my feet drag as I stalked to the door. Sherlock's room was only across the hallway, but it felt like miles. I knocked gingerly, "Sherlock?"

"Yes? What is it?"

"Can I come in?" I asked, trying me best to keep steady voice.

After a short pause, he replied, "Alright."

I locked onto the knob, attempting to be as casual as possible as I opened the door. The room was dark, but there was enough light coming through the window for me to see Sherlock sitting on the edge of his bed. I wrapped my arms around myself. The window was open, the room chilly with cold hardwood that nipped at my bare feet. I inched forward, "Sherlock... It's about your relationship with that woman from earlier..."

"I thought I already told you that it was strictly professional." he retorted.

"Well..." hesitant, "What kind of work is it then?"

Sherlock turned his head, staring up at me from his seat, "Interesting work."

"Yes, but what kind of interesting wor-"

I was interrupted when he stood suddenly, nearly making me jump. He didn't move any closer, but his whole body was pointed in my direction, the light hint of pale moonlight only partially revealing his features. My heart was pounding. He took his first tormenting step toward me, daring me to run. I held my ground, but my heart was threatening to leap form my chest.

"What's this about John?" he asked, seemingly too casual.

"I- I-" I couldn't find words, "I saw inside her pack. She was the murderer."

"You went snooping through her things? Why's that?"

"Well, I- I was jealous." I replied, my voice a little more shaky as he took another step.

"Jealous?" he questioned, the dim light outlining his smug grin as he inched closer.

He was only a short distance from me now. I shifted back, my back hitting the door and accidentally pushing it shut. Good lord… My heart was pounding. However, I… was less afraid.

"Yes." I answered, more confident in myself, ''It's not a crime to be jealous."

Another menacing step towards me, my back pressed against the door now, the moon's glow over his face now long since lost behind him. I could feel it. His devilish grin in all its splendor, staring right at me. Sherlock was an arm's length away, so close I could hear his breathing. "But you didn't come in here because you were jealous." He began, "You suspect me as well."

"I know you were involved."

Sherlock's tone switched to an interested one, "You _know_ yet you didn't go to the police?"

"I didn't think I would be able to turn you in."

All movement stopped, just for a brief moment, but it stilled none the less.

After a confident breath, Sherlock asked, "Why?"

I frowned, "Because my heart wouldn't let me."

As quickly as it had stilled there was movement again, rough hands grabbing up my wrists and slamming them above my head. Someone gasped, it may have been me, but my heart was pounding too loudly in my head for it to have distinguished just who it was. I could feel the warmth of Sherlock's breath on my cheek as he moved to my ear, ghosting words into it.

"So, you're not frightened of me? Even though I could be responsible for murder?"

"At first I was nervous…"

"At first?" he questioned.

His mouth shifted from my ear to my neck, the heat rushing through me and sending soft shivers down my spine. I was turned on to say the least, but I couldn't tell him that. The smug bastard would never have let me live it down if I had.

I swallowed, "But now I'm not frightened. I'm only worried for you."

"Worried for me?" he chuckled.

"What will happen to you if you get caught?!" I exclaimed, rather breaking the mood.

Lifting his head back to mine, he teased, "I just won't get caught then."

Finally the gap closed, allowing me to feel the heat pressed roughly against my lips. I wasn't even surprised when a small moan escaped me. His body came closer, Sherlock's chest sandwiching me between him and the door as our hands fell. As Sherlock gripped my waist, I let my arms fall over his shoulders, only deepening our kisses. It was the first time I'd ever had a tongue in my mouth. I can't say it was as pleasant as people describe, but it felt like we were closer, and things were steadily growing more intense. It wasn't until I felt fingers brush up naked side that I realized Sherlock had slipped a hand beneath my shirt, trailing its way up my body.

It was such a rush of ecstasy that I almost didn't know that to do with myself. I let out a small yelp when I was raised against the door, Sherlock's hands guiding my legs around his waist. I tried my best to lock my ankles around him, but I was afraid of slipping, his supporting hands on my rear only making my cheeks burn hotter than they already were. I didn't think I would make it to the bed, but Sherlock was stronger than he looked, and skillfully carried me. I can't say it wasn't painful, because Sherlock was by no means of the word, gentle. However, I wouldn't trade those moments with him for anything.

Sherlock and I were closer then we'd ever been. I couldn't bring myself to get up and return to my own room, the pain in my lower back threatening to cripple me. Sherlock didn't seem to mind. He scooted to a side and opened an arm out. I happily snuggled into his side, my head resting against his naked chest. I was happy.


	9. Bloody Doorbells

I woke up tucked into Sherlock's side, his warm arm curled around me in a protective fashion. You know that feeling when you have to get out of your warm bed in the morning? The one that leaves you groaning as you're called from behind your bedroom door? That's how I was feeling, Sherlock's comforter insulating our body heat generously. I could've stayed like that all morning.

I probably would have-

If the doorbell hadn't rang.

Sherlock groaned, rolling over lightly in my direction, one eye barely open. A small smirk stretched over his lips when he noticed me. My cheeks turned hot, and I wished I could just hide beneath the covers. His arm lifted slightly so his fingers could trace the outline of my hair, playing with my morning hair. I smiled sleepily, shamelessly enjoying the view of a shirtless Sherlock messing with me. It made my heart tingle with happiness.

The doorbell rang again.

I wished silently that whoever it was would just take the bloody hint and go away. Sherlock took his hand away, much to my displeasure, and left it to flop onto the pillow in front of his face, "Whoever it is rang twice, they're serious about coming in, by Mrs. Hudson has invited them in and if it was a client she'll call for us.

I grinned, "And if it's not a client?"

Mrs. Hudson's ginger voice yelled up the stairs, "Boys! You've got a visitor!"

Sherlock groaned once more, flipping the blanket over so he could tumble out of bed, "She'll call for us."

Slipping into our clothes, Sherlock was first out the door, examining the stranger and welcoming them in no doubt. Well, "Not exactly welcoming..." I chuckled to myself. He was probably busy picking out their problems and telling them their own life's story while I finished pulling on my jumper and pushed open the door.

I wasn't greeted by my expected sight however. When I entered, Sherlock was sprawled out on the floor, face first. "Sherlock!" I cried, running to him and falling to my knees. He had a pulse, he was alive and breathing. Who had-

There was a loud thud, and everything went black, my last images being Sherlock unconscious at my side as I fell. A hot and gooey liquid running down the side of my face. Someone was in our flat. Someone who didn't want us around.

A familiar voice found its way through my ears, "Sorry doctor Watson, but Sherlock can be a bit of a softie when it comes to you."

"I really can't stand softies."


	10. Nail Polish

In my mind, I'd already started thinking of how my surroundings would look when I woke up. Torture room? Bare and cold cement walls? Dentist trays filled with sharp instruments scattered about? A prison? A hospital?! What kind of place would this crazy woman have in store for me? Her own personal Hotel California?

No. I woke up in a pleasant looking flat, light pouring in with brilliant types of yellow as it pushed through the thin drapes. There were even roses displayed in beautiful glass pots by the window. It looked nothing like the home of a murder to me... but then again, maybe its the people who look sane that hide the most dangerous types of crazy.

But aren't we all even a little crazy?

"Oh fantastic! You're awake!" I followed Kaitlyn's voice, my eyes desperately trying to track her down, "I can't very well feel accomplished in life without first spilling my villainous plan to you now can I?"

Finally, my vision stilled, the last of my blurry grogginess starting to fade. Sitting over the arm of her muddled-red couch, Kaitlyn fiddled with the tip of her skirt, socks up over ankles and curly hair hanging loosely at the sides of her face, guarding her. The flat had that strange feel about it. I attempted to stand, but the constricting ropes pricked at my wrists and held fast to the arms of my chair. A wooden kitchen chair. It felt like I was being interrogated by a cat lady. Then worry struck me.

"W-Where's Sherlock!?"

She scoffed, "Sherly's sleeping in my room. Tied up too unfortunately... I hate to do it but 'people do get so sentimental about their pets'." she quoted, chills running up my spine.

I struggled with my bonds, "You know Moriarty!"

"Of course I do. You do too silly." she smiled, picking at the tips of her pointed nails with admiration.

I was agitated, "Of course! The bastard tried to blow me up! He tried to kill Sherlock! He's a vicious spider!"

"Tsk tsk Doctor Watson." she teased, leaning forward, "Tsk tsk!"

"What are you talking about?"

"The consulting criminal! I'd thought it was obvious... Well, maybe if you 'normal' people weren't so irritatingly stupid it would be easier for you I suppose." Kaitlyn slid off the end of the arm, crossing the short distance until she was right over him, "The consulting... oh, come come Doc! Surely you can make a... deduction!" she chirped, "that's the word!"

"I-I don't..."

"Come now, say it with me; the... consulting... deeetee~" she encouraged, stringing out her words.

"They have similar titles. So?"

She shook her head with disappointment, "Sherlock Holmes _is_ the consulting criminal you twat."

"You're lying! You bit-"

Her nails ripped at my cheek, their tips dyed crimson as she drew them away, "Watch your tongue." she warned before turning to her hand, "What an interesting shade... Ever think of going into the nail polish business?"

I didn't reply, but glared up at her as she took another swing, the other hand this time. She smiled, admiring the beautifully red tips before turning back to me, "Permission to bottle some?"

"No."

"That's fine. I didn't really care if you approved anyway." Kaitlyn turned, bustling about her shelves for something as I pulled at the ropes once more. She came back with an empty polish bottle and a kitchen knife, pulling a chair up, he dumped in in the wrong direction, Straddling its seat as her arms rested on it's back. "I really do love my nails..." she began, "I have a special thing for polishes. I don't know if Sherlock told you or not."

"Why would he talk to me about something like that?!"

She shrugged, pulling the knife to push against my neck, brushing right over the fresh hickeys Sherlock decided to leave the previous night. The knife stung as Kaitlyn pushed the dull tip against a small bruise. I tried not to wince, it would give her satisfaction. When I didn't cry out, she frowned, "Well you're not very much fun..."

"I can be when I want to." I replied, smug grin hiding just how nervous I really was.

She nodded in understanding. "Well, then let's try to loosen you up a bit!"

The knife was swiftly taken from my neck, making its way menacingly down my arm until it met it's crook. Her smile intensified as she dug the knife into my skin, slicing across my arm and letting the blood trail down it's side. I bit back my cries of pain as her bottle filled. When she sliced a second time, I couldn't hold back. Kaitlyn carved an x into me, taking pride once I'd finally cracked.

She paused suddenly, her eyes looking up at something behind me. I couldn't turn to see what it was. However, when she took a startled step back I knew exactly who it was. The deep voice was filled with rage, "What. Are. You. Doing?"

Thank god... Sherlock...


	11. Psychopath

The vile slipped from her hand, shattering as it hit the floor with force, my blood staining her carpet. I couldn't turn around, but did my best to get a look at Sherlock. Kaitlyn however, was to busy shaking nervously, "You're not supposed to be here! I never told you where I li-"

"I make it a common practice to gather as much Intel on my clients as I can. Just in case any unfortunate events such as _this_ were to occur and I need a way to retaliate." he informed as his voice inched closer.

I couldn't see Sherlock, but the terrified expression on her face... made me grin.

She look petrified, jumping out of her skin nearly. Sherlock came to my side, staring her down with an intent and deadly gaze. A pair of white gloves constricted his hands, "Well then," he started, lifting a hand and snapping the rubber in a rather menacing, unfriendly gesture, "how shall we take care of this problem?"

She was shaking now. Her tools of the trade long since forgotten and scattered about the floor. Sherlock came in front, shielding me from view as he neared her quaking form. She started begging, pleading for him to stop. She said she was 'sorry' and that she 'had no other choice'. "He would have given me up! I'm not going to jail just because you're emotions have started messing with your head spider!" she cried.

Sherlock scowled, "My emotions have nothing to do with you."

"They do if it means _my_ arse!"

Sherlock kneeled in front of her, arms supported against his legs as he continued, "He is with me! Meaning off limits to all you scum!"

"Sc- SCUM?!" she demanded, propping herself up on her elbows to glare at him, "You're calling _us _scum?!"

"Filthy, ignorant, boring the lot of you." Sherlock stood once more, kicking her onto her back as his foot trapped her shoulder against the floor, "**Scum**."

Part of me wanted to look away when he drew his knife... but another part of me enjoyed the vengeance. The blood dripped from my own arm as a stinging reminder that she would have killed me. Why should I feel remorse for her death? The tip of the blade scratched the first layer of her other arm as Sherlock held it in place. I noticed... it was relatively in the same place mine was. She tried desperately to free her shoulder from under his boot in attempt to help her other limb. Her un-injured arm waved around in vain beneath his foot as the knife pushed deeper. She gritted her teeth and bashed her head about before trying her luck with kicking her legs up. Sherlock was out of reach, pulling the knife back slowly, twisting the blade inside her gnash.

Her screaming was rather loud now. Sherlock let out an irritated groan and pulled off his scarf with his free hand, shoving it into her mouth. Her muffled cries continued as he started a new cut along her neck, taking care not to let too much blood pool out before he was finished with her. He was taking his sweet time. Something any sociopath- no, not sociopath.

Sherlock was acting like a psychopath.

His crooked smile proving his lust for her bloodshed. It made my stomach turn a bit. Why had I been okay with it? I'd let it go as far as it had already. Was I loosing myself? "Sherlock..." I started.

His head snapped in my direction. "Let's just go... please..."

A hint of color returned to his eyes, as if he'd lost his mind in exacting his own revenge. He removed his foot, releasing her shoulder. She grabbed greedily at her injured arm and throat, rolling onto her stomach and feeling around for a cloth.

Sherlock came obediently to me, working quickly as he untied my wrists, revealing the red rope burns circling them. He growled with an angered expression.

We left. Not exactly to Sherlock's wishes, but Kaitlyn was still alive, wriggling about the floor as she helplessly tended to her wounds. I thought that was the end of it, but Sherlock was quiet when we returned to the flat. The only words he spoke were related to if I was alright and if I needed any help bandaging myself. I smiled sadly in reply, brushing him off as I wrapped strips of cloth around the crook of my arm. He settled for placing the kettle on the stove and turning the knob.

"I need to make a phone call..." he stated before retreating to his room.

* * *

Today's paper was ecstatic, gory details of a corpse found in her home, slashed in numerous parts of her body complete with a bullet in her temple. The police said they had leads on the killer, but I knew better. Sherlock would have covered his tracks good. There was no doubt in my mind it was him. Maybe his phone call had been to finish the job. I was nervous... but at the same time I was happy. Sherlock had gone berserk over it. Worried for _me_. I know its probably not the healthiest thing to be pleased with a serial killer as a boyfriend, and to be happy that he was willing to kill for me... but honestly...

I was _very_ happy. Maybe even a little excited.


	12. Manipulation and Mind Palaces

Sherlock began to notice the interest I was taking in his work, and started including me. I learned a lot about the way he ran it all. His 'homeless network' as we knew them, were actually his highly trained community of spies and informers, as well as a few skilled assassins. He was brilliant. Sherlock had managed to hide his entire network right under the nose of _everyone_ -including Scotland Yard- even myself.

Between that and the fact he'd been involved in near half of the cases he'd worked on with Lestrade. Donavan had no idea how right her conspiracy theory truly was... Sherlock was obsessed with it, the thrill and adventure. He'd always come up with creative ways for his patrons to dispose of their victims, from framing others, to delivering the blow. Kaitlyn was previous hired help at their home, their chef in fact. She taught the wife her 'special recipe' soup, her given recipe including a few... extra ingredients. The food Sherlock had made was an attempt to mix certain compounds, that when dissolved, can create an undetectable form of poison John should have died at the table. "You were lucky I was home. Without me you never would have gotten the antidote." he explained from his seat on the sofa, large paper near covering his face.

I settled into my own chair, cup of tea in hand, "The antidote?" I asked, rather bemused.

"I slipped you the cure just as those idiotic men showed up. You were cured before you even reached the hospital."

I frowned, "But... you couldn't tell me or anyone else because that would mean you had a deadly poison in your possession."

"Good." he remarked, "You're learning."

"Of course, Kaitlyn gave the wife the recipe, so it was only a matter of time before they'd be killed. How long have you been working on her case?"

Sherlock smirked, "She had a grudge against the man. They'd been having an affair after all, meaning he was sentimental about her soup. So it was only a matter of time until he'd request it. It explained why the wife was sitting farther than normal. Things went smoothly."

"But.." I began, "Why would the wife make the recipe for her _cheating_ husband, made by the woman he slept with?"

"Easy. The wife didn't know it had been her specifically, so the recipe wasn't important and or sentimental to her, but she wanted to keep her husband. Therefore tending to his wishes was the best thing, at least in her opinion."

"Why kill the entire family?"

Sherlock paused briefly, shooting me a quick glance before returning to his paper, "Collateral damage."

I... didn't really know what to say... "But- There were children!"

"What she chose to do with her resources were none of my concern."

"You knew she'd end up killing the family though!" I protested, angrier then I felt I really should have been but... oh... no! This wasn't normal! It wasn't normal to show no remorse for an innocent child!

... but- when did Sherlock ever show remorse anyway?

The paper crinkled as Sherlock stood, tossing it carelessly atop the coffee table before making his way over to me. I was hesitant at first, thinking I'd stepped over the line. He took his time, his deadly gaze locked with my nervous one as he took slow, near sluggish steps. The floor board creaked, breaking me from my moment of concentration. I couldn't move away, helplessly watching as Sherlock neared, eventually leaving nothing but a few inches of air between us.

"John."

I opened my mouth, trying to find words but to no avail.

Sherlock let his fingers ghost over my sides as his lips tucked close to my neck, summoning a rush of anxiety as he whispered, "Why does this only bug you _now_?"

Once my brain caught up, I shook my head, "I- I don't understand..."

"Why are you suddenly questioning my lack of regret when it comes to death?" he questioned, a finger sliding beneath my shirt and making its way towards my back, "I thought you knew me well enough by now... I'm 'sick'."

"You're not sick!" I protested, suddenly finding authority in my voice.

The conversation was pointless. I knew Sherlock didn't care, it was more like I was trying to convince myself. That's just how he was born. He solved cases, sometimes... caused them. He really did get off on it as Donavan had warned. Why was I letting myself be pulled along by such a man? My mind humored the idea that maybe _I_ was the sick one, running into the bloody arms of a proud sociopath. Sherlock enjoyed these types of things, but I didn't care? Why? What the hell was wrong with me!?

Sherlock's hands found place at my hips, pushing lightly until I was backed up against the fireplace.

Sherlock was screwing with my head again, toying with my dark fantasies as he seduced my senses, lulling them to sleep as I fell into thought. In a way, Sherlock brought about my own mind palace. I was changing. It scared me. Sherlock had started to scare me.

I slipped away from his grip, angrily stomping away to my room. He stood, bemused where I left him.

This was wrong! My own mind palace? Was I loosing it? Completely?! I guess It would only have been a matter of time honestly. Running around with Sherlock can have an effect on the way you think. Especially if he'd manipulating you on purpose.

...was I _finally_ loosing my mind?


	13. Needing a Destraction

I didn't distance myself like I knew I should have, but instead channeled the frustration out on what Sherlock asked of me. I was acting like a play toy and I knew it, but I was too concentrated on the fact I could be well on my way to losing my mind. The main problem with that being... I was okay with it. That wasn't right. But- it was? I don't know! Sherlock seemed to eventually come to a conclusion that something was off, and confronted me.

"John?"

I whipped my head up from my laptop, where a blank document tab was opened. It'd been sitting on my screen for a good twenty minutes, not a single word typed. He stood slowly, making his way from his favorite corner of the couch to me in my chair. This was becoming a disgusting ritual. It was boring. I really wanted a distraction from the little situation in my mind. I could do with something else to keep myself occupied. So before he made it over, I slapped the lid of my laptop down, tossing it carelessly onto my chair as I stood, ready to meet him.

Needless to say, it took Sherlock by surprise. I gripped onto his robe, clenching my fists until I was white knuckled as I kissed him. There was a short pause before his hands finally found my sides, exploring if you will. There was a short period of nothing but sensual kisses and biting one another's neck. It was rushed, but neither of us seemed to care. Sherlock's fingers trailed down my legs as he crouched, grabbing onto my thigh before lifting. I let out an involuntary yelp of surprise as I was hauled up, my legs being guided around his torso. I wasn't built with long legs, and my ankles refused to lock behind him. I could barely hear the floorboards settling as Sherlock made his way quickly to the bedroom, our feverish kissing loudly attempting to block out all other noise. His hair was soft against my fingertips, getting tangled a few times before we finally made it to his bed.

It was very rushed.

I heard a few of my buttons pop off as Sherlock pulled off my jumper and ripped at my undershirt. Damn my layers. Impatiently, he tore off our trousers, tossing them uncaringly onto the small pile forming on the floor. His hands ran along my chest, eventually sliding up my arms in order to clench my wrists above my head, pressing them into the pillow. The sheets skidded together noisily as he taunted my joints, kissing roughly enough to be on the verge of biting. It wasn't gentle in the least, but gentle sex didn't fit Sherlock in my opinion. His mind wasn't caring enough for something like that.

He took a few minutes to prep me this time, his fingers slickly coated with saliva before he taunted me with the first finger. I'd initially thought sex would be easier like this, but his nails weren't so kind, scratching up against my sensitive skin multiple times before he added his second finger. His arms weren't long enough to hold my wrists _and_ prepare me, so I was released, my lost hands not knowing what to do with themselves. I settled for gripping at the sheets, balling into tight fists. He was on his third finger when he found it. The last time we'd had sex, he hit this one spot... I-I don't know what its called... but it was what made the pain worth while. His finger pushed up against it, making me squeal in a way a man really shouldn't be able to. My hands flew to my mouth, trying to silence myself, but Sherlock stilled.

"No..." I begged, "Please... keep going!"

He chuckled deeply, bending down to bite my inner thigh before replying, "Only if you don't hold your voice back."

"What?!"

"I want to hear all your little noises." he grinned.

I glared hard at him, but it was hard to be seriously mad at him as I looked at him. Hiding behind my erection was a dirty trick, "You're pretty sadistic aren't you?" I snapped.

Another bite and I was giving in, "Alright..." I pleaded, "just... continue."

Sherlock smiled darkly, but didn't continue prodding me with his finger as I'd expected. Instead, he retracted his hand, crawling up so that his body towered over mine. "You didn't say please." he teased, leaning over to nibble on my collar bone.

I groaned with irritation, almost instinctively bucking up in petty attempt to get some sort of movement started up again. Sherlock just propped himself up on his knees, keeping himself out of reach. "Sherlock..." I whined.

"Say please." he reminded.

"Unh... **_please_**_!_"

Sherlock let his hands slide down my hips, cupping under my leg and lifting so that my arse was spread out before him. He was most definitely a sadist. There wasn't a slow entry, but I suppose that was for the better. One violent slam after another drove me further and further from consciousness. My prostate was mercilessly molested as he picked up speed. I couldn't even keep my eyes straight long enough to look at his face. His arms slid beneath my back as he buried his face in my chest. I subconsciously wrapped my arms around him, loving the feeling of having him pressed against me. We were so close together, it was near intoxicating. I couldn't keep control of my breathing, and fell off the edge after a short while.

Sherlock wasn't far behind, collapsing against me once he'd finished. We didn't bother to unlock, even to draw the sheets up over us. We just let ourselves fall asleep like that. Funny thing is, I wouldn't have had it any other way.


	14. Drug Addict

When I woke, there wasn't a naked Sherlock above me as I'd expected. However, there was a fully clothed Sherlock lying at my side, reading. This confused me terribly. I took a moment to stretch and groan, letting him know I was awake. He just let out a light groan, acknowledging me. I gestured towards his clothes, "Where'd you go?"

"Work." not even a delay.

I rolled over onto my stomach, propping myself onto my elbows and squinting against the morning light, "Which work?"

Sherlock turned a shifty eye in my direction, "Which do you think?"

"But didn't you _just _finish a job? A little much at once don't you think?"

He shook his head bluntly, "If I had my way I'd get the chance to do it every day. Its a need."

"A need? You mean... you're addicted to this?"

He shut his book softly, placing it against his lap, "It is a bit like that I suppose. You of all people know what happens when I don't have a 'case' surely."

That was true. Sherlock had once stained the flat's wall with graffiti, simply to have a target to shoot at. A bored Sherlock was a dangerous one. I let my head fall limp, "So what, you're an addicted serial killer?"

"The bigger and more powerful target the better."

"Oh, so it's a game?" I teased, "The one with the most points at the end wins? Bigger the better?"

"Don't make it out to be a sort of power complex John, simple conclusions don't allow you to live up to my full expectations."

"Well..." I began, "The one before was one of Britain's most esteemed judges wasn't he? So... who's more powerful then that? You going to kill the bloody queen next?" I grinned, joking of course.

However, when he turned to face me, a menacing grin stretched across his lips. I realized. I was one hundred percent correct. "Wait... wait, wait, wait. You can't kill the bloody queen! Are you mad!?"

"I'm a high functioning sociopath with a long history of insane actions. I just told you that I see this as a-"

"Okay, okay just shut up a moment. Killing someone is one thing, but trying to get away with an assassination?! Are you- what- What are you thinking?!" I demanded, outraged that he could _ever_ think this was a good idea.

"Fun."

"What?!"

"You asked what I was thinking. I replied, fun."


	15. Dating a Sociopath

"Sherlock, I- I don't think you understand. Its bloody Buckingham Palace! The Bloody queen! It is literialy _impossible._" I reminded... roughly.

"All the more fun." he replied, grinning devilishly as he whipped the blanket away, standing with excited energy.

"Sherlock, this is serious!" I snapped, staring him down as he changed clothes, "What- what are you even doing right now!?"

"Going into battle John, I'll need the right armor!" he exclaimed, tossing down a suited-tie before quickly examining another.

I was confused, "What kind of battle are we talking about?"

"Meeting the queen... obviously." he muttered, promptly straightening the jacket of his suit before turning to me, "Coming?"

"To meet the queen!? What do you expect? She'll just hand us an invitation?!"

There was a devilish grin on his face, "Miss Irene Adler, also known as 'the woman'. She came to the consulting criminal the other night asking for a way to utilize her mobile phone. My men put her touch with me. As it turns out, she and the royal family are in the middle of a dispute." he explained, dumping a suit jacket on it's hanger over the bed for me, "Because of this, the queen will hire the consulting _detective_. I informed miss Adler, that simply notifying the queen of her new-found power would insure a position of security, forgo, a power play."

"But... won't she find out that you're betraying her when you investigate her for the queen?"

"That's the beauty of it!" Sherlock was excited. More then I'd seen him in a while... "No one ever has any real contact with me, therefore, if I show up as myself, no one is any the wiser. Its the perfect plan really."

"Do you do this often?" I asked, shrugging into the jacket sleeves.

"Occasionally. Hungry?"

"Hungry?! Now?!"

"Nice suits, it would be strange if we were just wearing them around the house, so let's go to dinner."

"It's not even noon yet!"

Sherlock shot me that signature wink, the one that always makes him click his tongue. How was I supposed to respond to that? "Well then," he began, "We'll get the best table, won't we?"

I let out a smirk for that idiot. It was amazingly stupid to think he could kill the bloody queen. However, knowing Sherlock... it was a possibility. There was a chance... but... the queen? He felt his stomach turn as they got climbed into the cab. This was.. betraying his country wasn't it?

It was a long, silent drive. "Where exactly are we going?" I asked, noticing the third mile marker passing.

He didn't say a word, only turned, a devilish little grin plastered across his face. It was really hard to take him seriously with that kind of face... and the way his curls floated along the sides of his face, or the way his cheek bones... nope. Time to get your head out of the clouds John...

The cab slowed, parking near the front. Sherlock was the first out, jolting around the car to open the door for me. It was stupid and corny, but made my cheeks heat none the less. It was posh. Candle tables and tall handled wine glasses, baskets of steaming bread placed at tables from the soft hand of well-kept waiters and waitresses. Posh indeed. We were greeted at the door by a man who asked us if we'd planned a reservation. I was about to lift my hand and decline when Sherlock gave him a name. The man smiled, and escorted us over. I caught Sherlock's arm as we walked, whispering, "You made a reservation?"

"Of course. Impossible to get in right away without one." he explained.

I shook my head in disbelief, following him anyway. The table was nice, in its own private corner with drippy candles and red-velvety table cloth. I felt grossly out of place here to be honest... but at the same time it felt like a date... which was a nice change of pace. All we'd really done together as 'a coupple' was well... sex. A fancy date was nice. "I still don't understand why this was necessary Sherlock..."

"We're going to be summoned by the queen within the hour, I thought good dress would impress. Since there was no logical reason to be suited up at home, I decided to take you on a date. You like that sort of thing don't you?"

"Oh! So... it was a date after all?" I asked, more to assure myself then really question him.

"Of course."

I smiled, whether or not he noticed- I have no idea. He seemed very concentrated on the large clock stationed on the wall when the waiter came by, setting down a duo of menus with a pleasant smile. He was young, and seemed to piss off Sherlock the second he laid eyes on him. He was well kept, fairly handsome, as well as very citreous. The menu was hard to read... so I figured asking the waiter was the best idea... boy was I wrong. "I'm sorry, but could you help me read this? I don't go out very often, so I'm afraid I don't understand it very well."

The man smiled, "Sure thing." he came to my side, nearly brushing my shoulder as he pointed out the best tasting dishes, "Now what type of dish would you like?" he asked, that ever present smile still beaming.

"Oh.. umm..."

"We have crustaceans, fish, poultry, maybe you'd prefer a pasta? Or if you're trying to keep it light, we have a delicious variety of fresh salads." he instructed, flipping the page so that he could point it out for me.

"Oh, light isn't an issue for me thank you."

Sherlock scoffed, "Are you sure?"

I wanted to smack him. I wasn't overweight! Was I? I frowned, giving the salad page another look over before realizing the waiter was sparing me a concerned glance. He looked over at Sherlock with outrage, "You know, on second thought... I think I'll try the Cesar. Thanks."

He left with our menus, shaking his head.

"Sherlock you! What was that for!?" I growled.

Sherlock gave me a second's worth of a glance before turning his attention back to the clock, "Simply being helpful."

"Calling me fat isn't helpful."

"Neither is a young boy feeling you up!" He retorted.

I blinked a few times in silent disbelief, "What!?"

"That kid. He obviously had an interest in you." he barked, irritated.

"What are you talking about!?"

Sherlock let out a low groan before turning to me, his face filled with complete seriousness, "Science has proven that if someone stares at you silently for more then six seconds they either A; want to have sex with you, or B; want to kill you." he informed, "Taking into fact that he's very young, no older then twenty-five I'd say, his hair is well groomed, two different types of hair gel, as well as cologne, breath toxin, well suited uniform, and that hideously over-used smile, he's gay. Not only did he come to your side to _unnecessarily _point out menu items, he got four centimeters closer then is required to do so. Did you even notice the looks he gave us?"

I was irritated with this rambling already.

"When I said what I did his expression towards me grew cold, inferring that he became defensive for your sake. Therefore he's a gay man that wanted to have sex with you. Did I have reason to say what I did? Yes. Because he came over here and thought he could have you! The nerve!" he spat. "If we weren't in a public restaurant with witnesses, I'd have killed him on the spot."

I let out a short giggle. Sherlock was jealous?

"Maybe I should get his name..." he let his eyes narrow through the crowd, gritting his teeth, "I could always quietly kill him another time..."

I most definitely should not have enjoyed that as much as I did. Truthfully, I felt a bit sorry for our waiter when he returned, Sherlock's eyes narrowing in on his name tag with fierce determination. Poor bastard...


	16. The Newest Chess Piece

Sherlock didn't kill him. In all honestly I don't think my attempt to persuade him is what stopped him. I think it was just because we were picked up. Two men in sleek black suits were our chauffeurs. Sherlock had more of the story planned out then I really knew about frankly. He'd been planning it after all. I should've thought it trough before blindly tagging along... but I was in love. I know that's the typical type of thing an insane person would say, and I don't disagree. It is incredibly stupid to fall in love with a psychopath, even more to become a part of his dark world... but honestly...

I didn't care.

I shot the cabby! I-

I'm getting ahead of myself...

See, we didn't see the queen directly. We were met by an attendant as well as Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft. It was a rather tedious talk, but I did manage to catch Sherlock slip an ash tray into his coat on our way out. It almost made me loose my composure and giggle. That bloody fool. Always sticking his neck out. Must have been that exhilarating rush of adrenaline. Although, I still didn't understand the way he thought completely, I was slowly coming into grasp over more and more. Sometimes it just felt good to vent.

Sherlock went about his business with the woman, confronting her, getting the photos back... even playing her out. He hadn't gotten the chance to finish before something came up. It wasn't in his plans.

It was a week after. Dealing with the conspiracy over the 'consulting criminal'. Sherlock had played it all out, but almost too well. One of his customers took it upon himself to go after Sherlock for him, thinking his boss would love a dead arch enemy. It had resulted in Sherlock's own scheme to come undone. It wasn't one he could worm out of with his cleverness either. This man was sick... dying type sick. His work was based entirely on luck. It was decided by yourself if you died. Two pills, he took one, and you took one. He'd already outlasted three people.

Sherlock didn't stand a chance alone on this one.

I searched for him after he drove off. I found him at a closed building, I'd run down corridor after corridor looking for him, only to see him through the window. He was on the opposite side of the building with that man... being forced to swallow down a pill. But... he wasn't forced. It was his own stubborn pride, that thrill in outsmarting everyone, risking lives, even his own. He didn't know which was deadly and which wasn't, but he was still willing to play the game. I couldn't breathe when I saw them, I managed to scream his name after a few moments, but it was in vain. My heart was pounding in my head, only one solution coming to me.

So I shot him dead.

I felt that rush. It was enthralling, not like fighting in a war where you're fending for yourself, knowing the poor buggar you're against doesn't want to be there any more then you do. When you're killing in that fashion you're working for someone else, someone who doesn't feel the need to get their hands dirty, but doesn't mind sheading your blood. It makes you an animal, maybe even a test subject. However... this was blood-pumping. I was in control of myself, not following orders, worrying for Sherlock... mostly. The small part of me that had been previously morphed by Sherlock's way of life whispering words of confidence in my ear.

It was almost like I _wanted_ to kill him for myself. Maybe for nothing more then basic principal. He did deserve it after all... It wasn't like killing another innocent soldier. This man was a murderer, one out of control. He was killing for himself as well. I convinced myself to pull the trigger, knocking the cabby right out of his chair. I'd just killed a man... and I'd never felt more alive.

The final string had been cut. The last piece in place. I was just like Sherlock. I wanted to feel that kind of power again. -and...

I didn't care if that started with the queen or not.


	17. The End?

"So there you have it. That's how I became by state definition 'clinically insane'. At least, that's what my lawyer said... personally I think he was just using it as an excuse to half-ass his job. I mean, Sherlock didn't get off on any charges like that. Even a mental hospital would be better then what they did to him. Bastards. I mean, who does that judge think she is? ..aand you're not really paying any attention at all are you?"

John was sitting crisscrossed in an uncomfortable hospital-type chair, staring at a man who was chewing on what appeared to be a toy of some sort. He sighed, "I suppose you don't want to hear about how Sherlock did it then?"

The man just continued to gnaw at his toy, hardly even looking at John at all. He ran his hand in a frustrated fashion down his face as he gave up any attempt to have an honest conversation in this place. He lifted his chin so that he could map out the ceiling patterns, "I'm not insane! I don't belong here you bloody imbeciles!"

One of the doctors -or puppy-guards as John referred to them- turned his head in John's direction. At least it was almost noon, then he could just get his lunch and return to his room. The company around there was terrible. He locked eyes with the guard, nonchalantly repeating himself, "I don't belong here."

The scruffy man opposite him had started to drool. John felt dirty, stooped down to this sort of level. He turned his attention to the window. They were on the fourth floor, the ground being so far away. Wherever he was, it was low key. There was miles of land outside, not a building to be seen. He missed the view from the flat, busy street below, dim lighting, not having to worry if the man next to you would bite your arm off... well... he smiled to himself. Finally, the nurses and doctors started escorting patients to the cafeteria. John strolled in all on his own, grabbing up his tray before sitting down at a table, only to be joined by a woman who was constantly looking over her shoulder.

Sighing, he shoved a forkful of scallop potatoes into his mouth, "I don't suppose _you_ want to know how he did it?"

"I do." came a voice from behind.

It was one of the nurses, she sat down with a bottled drink, smiling at John eagerly.

John only scoffed, "No one really wants to hear, all the doctors think I'm insane."

She gave him a cocky look, "I've heard about you Doctor Watson. You were one of the men involved with the queen's murder weren't you?"

John bowed his head, grin plastered over his face, "That's right."

"Well, how did you do it?" she asked again.

John took another bite of his meal before pushing his tray back, "Sherlock did it."

"Alright.. how did _Sher_lock do it?"

"The ash tray." he replied, still smiling.

"..What?"

"Sherlock stole an ash tray from Buckingham Palace. Not many, if any at all of the queens employers smoked, therefore meaning-"

"The queen was a smoker..." she finished, "So?"

John lifted the plastic cup to his mouth, taking a good swig of his water before continuing, "Sherlock had noticed the first time that the man she's set us up with carried a lighter, red, one hundred and fifty ML. He took careful note when he exposed the fact she was a smoker to examine it."

The nurse shared a puzzled look as John continued, "He made a replica, only, he added his own special touch. A neurotoxin deposited in the lighter fluid, would burn with the light as it lit up, undetectable, odorless, colorless, and faded right in with the cigarette smoke. Bloody genius."

"That's incredible..."

"No, it was Sherlock."

"Well.. how did he get caught?"

John scoffed, "His brother. Loyal to queen and country forever." he mocked, raising his hand to his head, "Sherlock's locked away in a prison somewhere... but he managed to make the jury think I was insane... bastard didn't think I could handle it I suppose..." John smiled lightly, earning a hand over his.

The nurse gave him a comforting look, "You loved him didn't you?"

"You've no idea." he frowned, pulling his hand away, "Except now I'm stuck here. I'm just doomed to wait."

She furrowed her brow in confusion, "Wait?"

"I'm waiting for someone."

"Waiting for who?"

"Mail call!" one of the guards called, wheeling in a chart with a small stack of packages and envelopes, holding up a clipboard, "Harbles, Transy, Trent, Saver, Savage, Undermane, Watson..."

John's head snapped up when he heard his name, quickly flipping his legs over to tumble out from beneath the table. He rushed to the cart, grabbing up his mail and examining it before carefully ripping the top open. He grinned when he saw a familiar phone slip out of the envelope. The light ding, alerted him with a text. The nurse he'd been chatting with came up behind him, "H-How did that clear customs? He shouldn't have that."

**Could be dangerous. **

John raced to the window, clutching onto the phone with all his might.

**I know. -JW**

The nurse had called for a few of the guards, who had rushed up to John, not making it in time before the phone dinged once more.

**Duck. **

John's eyes widened before he immediately fell to his knees, covering his head as the explosion took place. The doctors were tossed back as if they were nothing more then feather pillows, John took a moment to wait for the rubble to die down before listing his head. A helicopter chirped loudly, whizzing trays around the room as loose hospital clothes whipped against people's bodies. Because of it's propeller span, it couldn't come directly along-side the building. There was at least a four ft. gap, four story drop. It was an army model, no side doors, obviously using the weaponry to break open the wall.

John let out a high pitched gasp of relief when he saw Sherlock, standing with an arm stretched out to him.

John turned back to the lady he'd been chatting with, "Looks like my waiting is over." he smiled. Despite the desperate screams of the doctors and nurses, John ran towards the ledge, jumping with all his might, reaching for that hand.

There were still many adventures to be had.


End file.
